


Blood Rush

by Murf1307



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: F/M, Hand Jobs, Post-Battle, Semi-Public Sex, of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 19:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a successful rally, things get heated between Jack and Katherine</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Rush

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of an ongoing Arrangement with my friend; she writes me Eposette, I write her Lambcuddles.

They’re barely out of the protest area when she grabs him and pulls him into a deserted alley for a searing kiss.  “We did it,” she whispers hotly against his lips.  “ _You_ did it.”

“Bah, they wouldn’t be here if not for you.  You’s been campaignin’ this thing in your column for months, ain’tcha?”

“They all came to see  _you_  speak, Jack,” she murmurs, pressing her lips against his neck and dragging them downward toward his collar.  “They always come to see you speak — that’s how we win, and to be honest I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

 

He laughs.  “Don’t sell yourself short, though,” he says, arms wrapping around her waist as he leans back against the wall.  “You got a pretty big part in all of it.”

“See, you set a city on fire, I just write about it,” she says back, kissing him properly to silence any rebuttal. She slips her tongue against his lower lip, and his mouth opens under hers — she is the only one who can ever really shut him up.

He pulls her tighter against him as the kiss turns hot.  They’re both still high on the solidarity of the crowd and the adrenaline-shot of victory, and she’s  _thrumming_  with want even when she pulls her mouth away to breathe.

“God, you are brilliant, Jack,” she says.

He grins at her and spins them around, pillowing the back of her head with his hand as he presses her against the brick wall of the building they’re leaning on.  “And I say th’ same of you, angel,” he says, smirking, before kissing her again.

The kiss is long, and deep, and positively dirty.  He brackets her in, fitting them together like he was made for it, like she was made for it.

In a way, they  _were_  made for this, for moments like this.

They stumble further into the alley, behind a pile of boxes.  Nothing seems to matter in the sharp wake of victory and with their bodies as pressed together as they can be given the circumstances.

One of his hands gathers at her skirts; ease of practice gets it up under them, sliding against her stockings.  He’d rather have his hands on her skin, but they’ll make do — there’s a sense of urgency, of need, in both of them that can’t be fought.  She makes a soft noise into his ear, one hand tight in his hair as she scuttles a hand down the front of his trousers.

They’re in about the same straits, him more obviously so, and she cracks a smile and squeezes at him a little.  He groans against her and slides his hand between her legs, cupping at her in retaliation.

It only takes a moment for her to scrabble against the relevant buttons and fastenings and take him in hand.

Both of them are still lucid enough to recognize the need for silence as they rock against each other, messy and wet and  _needing_ , adrenaline thrumming as high as lust in their veins.

It’s only a few minutes until she tenses under his hand, and he tenses in hers — at nearly the same time, they both reach orgasm.

He leans his hips away from her — shielding her dress from the consequences of what they’ve done, and tips their foreheads together.

She’s blushing, heavily, and her eyes flash in mock irritation.

“See what you do to me, Jack Kelly?”

“I do believe I do.”


End file.
